


You Made Your Mark On Me

by UniverseOnHerShoulders



Series: Take Me To The Stars [4]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Date Night, F/F, Flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-26 00:53:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16209260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/pseuds/UniverseOnHerShoulders
Summary: The Doctor has some complaints about Clara's choice of outfit for date night... mainly that velvet has always been a distinctly Gallifreyan choice of fabric.





	You Made Your Mark On Me

**Author's Note:**

> From allnewtpir's prompt: _13 and Clara have a date night, with Clara wearing the green velvet outfit and 13 realising she pulled off the velvet better than 13 ever did._
> 
> Title is from ['Dress' by Taylor Swift.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JjdjOZvvucw)
> 
> Outfits worn can be seen [here (Thirteen)](https://www.gannett-cdn.com/presto/2018/10/05/USAT/d65e867d-787f-41ed-b93c-4f21f986c34f-XXX_Doctor_Who_rd400.JPG?width=1080&quality=50) and [here (Clara).](http://universe-on-her-shoulders.tumblr.com/post/178426810185/oswincoleman-jenna-coleman-on-the-one-show-right)

“No.” 

The word is, to Clara, almost inexorably alien. Far more alien than the woman who utters it; the woman who is stood in the bright white of the console room in a dark grey suit with wide black stripes, light and dark interplaying to give her an almost ethereal glow. The woman who looks entirely human, but has an aura of stardust that clings to her as she moves, rippling over her skin and suffusing the air around her with a hint of… otherness. The woman who has never before said this word to her, not in this context, not ever.

 “No?” Clara asks in confusion, looking down at her outfit choice for the evening. An emerald-green suit of brushed velvet, coupled with a ruffled white blouse tied with a small black bow – the kind of blouse she had once worn to teach students, a lifetime ago and a thousand planets away. She’d seen it and allowed to trigger her nostalgia, and she adjusts the bow subconsciously as she frowns. Somehow, the go-to option for date night has become this – both of them in suits, or sometimes, for variety’s sake, Clara in a dress. The woman stood across the console from her is not the sort of woman to wear a dress, and both of them accept that. “What do you mean, ‘no’?” 

“No, you’re not wearing that.” 

“I’m sorry?” Clara is baffled by these words. This is a first-time complaint, and one she doesn’t have the capacity to deal with – not due to a lack of maturity or a lack of awareness, but simply because she has never heard her companion say such a thing. Even her companion’s predecessor, awkward though he was, had never dared to tell her that – and she had taken some risks when it came to her past wardrobe choices, determined to elicit a response from him of any kind. She thinks, fleetingly, of the shimmering, almost-indecently short 1920s dress tucked away at the back of her wardrobe and smiles to herself for half a second, before remembering the issue at hand. She takes a deep breath that she doesn’t truly need, steeling herself for a grand feminist lecture about the agency of choice, but before she can, the Time Lady unpeels herself from the wall she is leant against across the room and strides towards her, mouth turning up into a smirk that signals her intentions to Clara far more succinctly than any utterance could. 

“It’s unacceptable,” the Doctor hums, the soft Yorkshire burr of her accent tinged with amusement. “It’s entirely, deliciously unacceptable.” 

“What’s unacceptable?” Clara asks, feeling her irritation wane in the face of that incorrigible grin and the soft, purring tone that the Time Lady is using. She knows that tone, although it is usually reserved for more intimate settings. Well. More intimate than in front of the heart of their time machine, although they both know that the sentience of the ship has no limits. She feels a flush of embarrassment at that thought, as always, before the Doctor comes to a halt in front of her, looking her over from the ground up. 

“You’re wearing heels,” the Doctor begins, attempting to look stern. “And I like you shorter than me.” 

“And why would that be?” 

“Because I like making you work for it when you kiss me.”

“Oh?” Clara pouts, deciding to play the game that the Doctor seems so intent on starting. “That seems rather unfair.” 

“I know,” the Doctor grins, her seductive façade dropping away as her inner child shines through. “But it’s fun.” 

“You’re a dork,” Clara says fondly, moving to lean against her partner but finding herself rebuffed. The Time Lady’s hands settle on her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length as she finds herself on the receiving end of another appraising look. “What?” 

“The velvet,” the Doctor tilts her head to the side, giving a sad little sigh as she clicks back into seduction mode. “That’s such a shame, you know?” 

“What is?” Clara swallows thickly, and a thought occurs to her – one that makes _her_ smirk, then raise her eyebrows with bemusement. “You’re not about to ruin it, are you? Because this was expensive, and if you really find it that much of a turn-on, can I at least take the trousers off first?” 

“Oh, I intend to ruin it later,” the Doctor is still trying to be alluring, but the blush that creeps over her cheeks whenever they mention anything they do in the privacy of their own room is a giveaway. “But I really do find it unfair that velvet looks better on you than it ever did on me.” 

“Don’t be daft,” Clara chastises, ducking skilfully away from the Time Lady’s grasp and wrapping her arms around the Doctor’s waist, clinging on lest her partner attempt to dislodge her for the sake of continuing her theatrical campaign of seduction. “It looked incredible on you.” 

“Mm, but better on you.” 

“Agree to disagree?” 

“Never.” 

“Agree for you to try wearing velvet, in the name of science?”

The Doctor mulls over this suggestion, chewing on her lip and scraping away a neat line of lipstick with her teeth. Clara would tell her, but she knows full well that they’ll both need to redo their lipstick before they leave. “We could try that.”

“We _shall_ try that,” Clara corrects. “And we shall try that next date night, but first… we have dinner reservations.”

“Yes, we do,” the Doctor pulls her closer, allowing her fingers to skirt underneath Clara’s jacket and rest on her waist at the juncture between the dark green of her velvet trousers and the soft white cotton of her blouse. Clara’s arguments die in her throat at the contact, her skin burning. “But first…” 

“Mm?” 

“I think I’m owed a kiss of apology,” the Time Lady’s fingers splay, skimming over Clara’s skin through the thin fabric of her shirt, and Clara swallows. She can feel the grooves on the Doctor’s fingertips from attempting to relearn the guitar, and while part of her wants them to go to dinner, another part of her craves the Time Lady simply dipping her hand underneath Clara’s blouse, allowing her fingers to rest on her bare skin, and seeing where that leads. Well. _Following_ where that leads, because they both know the outcome. “Don’t you?” 

“What am I apologising for?” 

“The fact that I’m not going to be able to concentrate at dinner.”

“A heinous crime,” Clara concurs, placing her arms over the Doctor’s shoulders in a bid to dislodge the Time Lady’s hands from their distracting location at her waist, and finding herself smiling shyly. She’s still unused to compliments from her partner, after all. “Do you really think I look that good?” 

“Clara, you look incredible.” 

“Dork,” Clara says for the second time that evening, her face breaking into a pleased grin as she nuzzles into the Time Lady’s neck in a bid to avoid her gaze. “Absolute dork.” 

“Only for you,” the Doctor’s thumb finds her chin, tilting it gently upwards and revealing Clara’s blush to her in the process. “My kiss, please. As compensation for looking that good in velvet.” 

Clara presses her lips to the Doctor’s, unable to control her grin, and she feels the Time Lady smile against her mouth. Dinner, first. And then… well. That could wait.


End file.
